Come and Gone
by Leytivia
Summary: A collection of dabbles, no connection between any of them unless stated otherwise. All Polivia and/or Etta.
1. walterXetta: tinfoil hats

The words 'Walter' and 'babysitting' should really never be in the same sentence.

On the occasion that he did, his plea would be that Etta loves it. Even though her tiny brain probably wouldn't remember any of this.

Today the toddler sat on his sofa-bed in the lab. Wearing a tiny tinfoil hat Walter had crafted for her, matching his own. He danced around, trying to get her to laugh. While she inattentively sucked on her fingers and stared at him blankly. As if she were waiting for him to do something more entertaining.

Then Walter stumbled, bracing himself onto the bed. The bouncing motion is what finally got a reaction out of her. He felt as though he had succeeded now, and continuously sat up and down on the mattress, causing the child to giggle until she turned red.

Peter peered into the room, then, Walter hadn't even realized he was back.

"Are you getting high in front of my daughter again?" Peter questioned when he caught sight of their faces and matching choices of head wear. Though, there wasn't a bit of accusation in it.

Walter shook his head, "not this time," he joked equally.

Peter didn't answer, instead he just plopped down next to them, grabbing the hat off of Etta's head and putting on his own. The child giggled, at his appearance, "now Peter, you just look silly." Walter inferred.

"You're one to talk," Peter laughed, picking Etta up to leave the room, hat still on head.

Walter smiled "Like father like son."


	2. oliviaXetta: reunion

Olivia's mind was currently hazy at best. 20 years in a suspended state had the tendency to do that to your consciousness. But only moments after waking up outside of that amber, the only word she murmured was; _"Etta." _

"She's okay," was Peter's only answer. And it was all he really needed to say.

They left the city. And were soon-but not soon enough-waiting in anticipation outside of the federal building. Etta was reluctantly on the other side of the city, doing what was expected of her job, and not removing the MIA from amber.

They waited for what felt like hours, truth be told, it probably was. Olivia wasn't paying attention when the time came, instead fiddling with her jacket with apprehension. What if this reunion wasn't all it was made out to be? Would she be forgiven? There wasn't much time to worry now. Peter nudged her just a bit, and she looked up. There-still many yards away, was the daughter that was lost to her so many years ago. She could hardly see her face from that distance, but she knew. Even if it weren't for Peter's telling, she would have known. There was the same face of that same innocent child from so long ago. As she got closer, she could see the questioning in her daughters eyes, the way she scanned the person before her as if trying to take it.

Was this really real?

She wasn't sure how, but somehow Olivia's legs lifted her up from the bench she sat on, and she practically ran the remaining distance between them.

There was nothing said. Olivia brushed a hair out of the young girl's face, just like she used to do. Slowly she embraced her. Both of them holding on for as long as they could. There was no question to it. This was in fact, real.


	3. peterXolivia: nursery

This shouldn't have been a difficult decision.

They were relatively traditional people when it came to most things. _Most. _The exceptions usually being how not to break the universe, and things like that.

Not choosing paint colors.

In the beginning they thought, simple, pink for girl, blue for boy, and finding a happy medium if they for some reason did not find out the sex of the baby. Pale yellow, or maybe the always safe shade of white.

But this was ridiculous.

"Since when are you so obsessed with interior design, anyway?" Olivia bit, arms folded as Peter flipped through the sample book for the hundred-and-tenth time.

"I just want something the baby will really like," he replied almost cheerfully, pretending to ignore her tone.

"The baby is not going to care what color the room is for the first 4 years or so," she rolled her eyes; between her hormones and Peter's new found love for such decoration, they were both screwed. "I swear, just pick something," she begged.

He didn't look up from the sample book, "I told you, I want purple."

"I don't want purple for a boy," she refuted quickly.

"How do you know it's a boy?"

"I don't."

"Then why don't we just wait until we find out?" Peter asked, only to receive a scoff.

How she could smile while giving him the death glare was beyond his knowledge, but it made him a bit uncomfortable in that moment, "you're the one who dragged me to the hardware store this morning," Olivia deadpanned. And she was right. He had taken her out, shortly after breakfast, nearly skipping down the isles towards the paint section. All with that stupid grin that's been plastered on his face for virtually the last month and a half.

Peter shrugged, he knew she was right, "no purple then?"

She was smug, "no purple."

* * *

But we all know they chose purple anyway because purple.


End file.
